He shoved one of the glasses of wine toward her, hard enough that it sloshed over the edges, and she watched as his cheeks darkened even further.
Lord, would he look like that if they… If he…
She took a sip and sighed again at the richness in her mouth, heat blooming from her throat to her middle.
He interrupted her thoughts. “I…I’m not good at this.”
“At what?”
“Small talk.”
“I’m not even sure what that is,” said Abby, feeling the holes in her education more keenly than ever. But his response helped. It helped a lot when he laughed first, because he was wonderful to look at. And the laugh, though rare, settled on his features comfortably, arching his brows, turning up the corners of his mouth, and creasing his cheeks, breathing new life into those high swathes of pink.
“We should continue to get along, then.”
The laugh disappeared, the sound of his voice faded, and their eyes met awkwardly in a dance Abby had neither learned nor perfected but was suddenly keen to understand.
She exhaled quick and hard while her body grew heavy and warm. From the wine or the man, she wasn’t entirely sure.
“I think you’re fine at talking,” she said.
“Yes?”
“Good at other stuff, too.”
His brows rose and his lips parted, making her want to taste them. His attention slid to the side, away from her, as if he was searching for something to say. Finally, he said, “You’ve never told me, and I can’t help but wonder: What is it like to live there?”
“With the Church?” She set down her flatware and thought. “I couldn’t describe it. It’s been my only life.”
“Forever?”
“Yes. Well, no. Mama brought us when I was little, but I hardly remember before.”
“Why?”
“Why?”
“Why did she bring you? What was in it for her?”
Abby took a moment to answer. She lined her thoughts up one by one, pushing away memories that hurt too much to examine, lingering on good ones from when she was younger. This place had been much better than where they’d come from: safe and so much cleaner. Such a dream for a little girl who’d spent most of her life living out of the back of a car with her mom.
“She believes in the teachings. She’s been devout forever, went to prayer every week, no matter where we were, then she methimand…” Everything changed.
“Isaiah Bowden?”
Abby nodded. “Hamish started the church here, but Isaiah’s the prophet. He went out finding believers, while Hamish stayed here, welcoming and building. The mountain was supposed to be sacred land. Only, things have changed.”
“How so?”
“Isaiah’s not just a prophet anymore. He’s the Second Coming. Hamish was still alive when Isaiah started saying he was the Messiah.”
Abby took a sip and stared at nothing. A light film of tears covered her eyes as she let herself feel alone and maybe a bit sorry for herself.
Beside her, Luc puffed out a breath. “I can’t believe this is happening right next door to me. At least now I know why this place was so inexpensive.”
“I suppose nobody wanted us for neighbors.” After a pause, she turned to him. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said, her voice small. “You gave me the courage to leave.”
“Idid?”
